


The Night Was Young

by seashadows



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Genderswap, LiveJournal Prompt, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleanor McCoy goes on a date with Spock, no thanks to Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Was Young

She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. When had _Eleanor Harriet McCoy_ ever shied away from a challenge? She hadn’t hesitated to kick her ex-husband’s sorry ass to the curb. She hadn’t hesitated to turn Jim down time and time again (and that was a challenge indeed, hot damn). She hadn’t hesitated to fight the Starfleet brass so that she could get scheduled visits with Joanna on the Enterprise.   
  
So why was she hesitating now?   
  
Damn green-blooded hobgoblin.   
  
Three and a half months into the five-year mission, Jim called her out on it. “Bones, you’re being fucking ridiculous,” he said, to be exact. In the middle of the goddamn _mess hall_ \- kid had no sense of propriety, or of manners. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. If you want to ask her to do something, go for it.”   
  
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Ask who, Jim?”   
  
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t try that with me, Bones. I’m the king of sex, remember?”   
  
She snorted, with an eye-roll to match his. “King of sex, my _ass_. Y’all couldn’t even get me to sleep with you. Besides, I don’t even know if the hobgoblin…” She stopped short, biting her lip. _Fuckfuckfuck._ Well, he obviously knew already, and it was rude to leave a sentence hanging – her mama’d made that clear when Eleanor was no more than knee-high. “I don’t know if she even likes women.”   
  
“Bones. Are you _blind_?” Jim leaned forward across the table. “She and _Nyota_ Uhura –“ seemed like the idiot would never get enough of saying that name, now he’d learned what it was – “were dating until two months ago. I mean, didn’t you see that kiss on the transporter pad? Now _that_ was hot.”   
  
“Y’all are a sex maniac, and wait, that was for real?” Hm. Spock had looked awfully uncomfortable when Uhura kissed her, but come to think about it, that might’ve just been the public setting, not an aversion to women in general. “Huh. So the pointy-eared computer just doesn’t like PDA.” Not that that made sex…made _sense_ , goddammit…straight out of her thoughts, but then again, she had a tendency to say whatever. Jim was probably used to it.   
  
“Bones, Bones, Bones.” Shaking his head at her, as though mourning her chances for a successful sex life, Jim (endangering her food, she might add, that was a perfectly good piece of cornbread) put his hand on her shoulder across the table. “Would it kill you to actually call her ‘Spock’?”   
  
“Would it kill you not to be such a _nirak_?” Eleanor grumbled, and made a face at him. If Jim thought everyone was as sex-obsessed as he was, he had another think coming…although, she had to concede, maybe everyone secretly was. It would sure explain the dreams she’d been having lately, especially the one with her head between Spock’s legs, Spock’s hand bringing her to climax, making her moan –   
  
“Wait, wait. Bones, is that _Vulcan?_ ”   
  
“Huh? All I said was you’re being a…oh.” Looked like her research had been found out. “Yeah.” Eleanor felt heat rush to her face, and bit her lower lip. “I’ve been lookin’ it up. Didn’t know you speak it.”   
  
“Yeah. Just a little.” Jim shrugged, as if to say _Yeah, I’m a goddamn sexy genius, what of it?_ “Learned it back when I was still trying to get into Spock’s pants. Looks like you’re doing the same thing.”   
  
She had to repress the strong urge to punch his smirking face in. “Dammit, Jim.”   
  
“Captain. Doctor.” Well, speak of the green-blooded devil and she will appear. Spock nodded at both of them, looking far too neatly combed for her own damn good. Another urge, this time to stand up – Eleanor topped the hobgoblin by an inch or two, something she never tired of smiling about – and run her hands through that unnaturally neat hair.   
  
“Well, hey there, Spock.” Were Jim not in possession of a newly-acquired sense of self-preservation (being choked on the bridge will do that to you), Eleanor would’ve sworn he was leering, or something equally as mischievous. “You got a second?”  
  
Spock hesitated before stopping. “Indeed.”   
  
“Good. Bones here is too shy to ask, so I’ll do it – you want to go on a date with her? Like, a romantic date?”  
  
“Jim, _shut up_ ,” Eleanor hissed. She knew she was probably tomato-red by now – next time that fucker came into sickbay, captain or not, she was going to stab him with enough hypos to make him feel like a pincushion into next year.  
  
“I am not averse to the idea, if Doctor McCoy is not.”   
  
“Wait, _what?_ ” Eleanor couldn’t help bursting out. “You…want to?” Well, hot damn – looked like Jim was good for something, after all.   
  
Spock nodded. “A ‘date’, as goes the Terran colloquialism, is an excellent opportunity for two or more parties to discern one’s interest in the other, or others, and vice versa.”   
  
“Well. Okay, then.” Eleanor _still_ could barely believe her ears, could barely believe her brain, but if this was a dream, she’d make the most of it. “My quarters, 1930? I’ll put on a holovid.” Well, at least it was better than a movie theater, where she could covertly grope Spock like a horny teenager, and – she quickly cut her brain off from _that_ train of thought. Not too many places to go on a date in this tin can, anyhow.   
  
“That seems an agreeable proposition,” Spock said, and Eleanor could barely keep _herself_ from smirking at the double entendre that the phrase carried. She’d been hanging around with Jim far too long, it seemed. “If you will excuse me, there are duties to which I must attend.”   
  
“Fine,” Eleanor found herself replying, a little dazed at what had just happened. The hobgoblin was coming to her quarters to watch a _vid_ , and she was actually looking forward to it? Fuck, but this was strange.   
  
Jim waved after Spock’s retreating back before turning back to Eleanor. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? And,” he added with a grin, “if things go like I’m thinkin’ they’re gonna go, nothing’ll be hard at all. It’ll be _wet_.”   
  
“Shut up before you start catchin’ flies, Jim,” she snapped. _Bastard_ \- although she had to hand it to him; that was the easiest she’d ever gotten a date before. Especially when she considered who it was, well…it was nothing short of remarkable. She’d have to send Jim a fruit basket or something equally sappy after he stopped thinking she was mad at him, although she’d let him keep the attitude for now. It made it easier to hypo him.   
  
“A-yup.” Jim stretched his arms over his head and leaned back in his chair, tipping the legs back like Eleanor had told him not to do a thousand times. “You’re welcome, Bones. I’m just that kinda guy.”   
  
“Since when are you _not_ tryin’ to get into her pants, anyhow?” She was genuinely curious, just a little; when Jim wanted a woman (or a man, for that matter), he didn’t stop until the person in question either slept with him or threw a drink in his face.  
  
“She nerve-pinched me.”   
  
“Huh.” Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Really?”   
  
“Well, she threatened to,” Jim replied with a shudder. “And I gotta tell you, Bones, I try to keep my neck as far away from Spock as I can.”   
  
“Yeah. That’s probably a good call.” She didn’t say that she admired _Spock_ for the threat itself – probably the only thing that would’ve kept it in Jim’s pants. Eleanor’d have to use it herself sometime.   
~ ~ ~   
  
She was being a wishy-washy, lust-struck idiot, and she knew it. Why else would it’ve taken her so long to choose a damn holovid? Hadn’t even made her decision when Spock’s knock on the door came: perfunctory and almost _courteous_ …a lot like the hobgoblin herself, if Eleanor wanted to be completely fair. Well, there was nothing she could do now. “Come in,” she said with a sigh, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear.   
  
The door slid open, and then closed with a soft sound, but it wasn’t until she could see Spock’s shape out of the corner of her eye that Eleanor even looked up. And _then_ her jaw dropped.   
  
Somehow, for some idiotic reason, she’d expected that Spock would be in uniform, or a pantsuit, or something equally gender-neutral that wouldn’t make Eleanor feel like jumping her. But no, Fate was probably laughing its ass off somewhere, because Spock was dressed in a soft-looking green-blue blouse and a flowing black skirt that came down to her knees. Her hair - _oh, God, shit, why do you have to torture me? Why?_ \- was simply styled, in a long braid that came partway down her back. “Good evening, Doctor McCoy,” she said, and even her voice sounded more melodious than usual. Not that it usually sounded melodious. _God, El, get ahold of your fucking self!_   
  
“H-hey,” Eleanor managed, after several seconds and a good-faith attempt to swallow her own tongue. “Evening t’you, too. Um.” Damn hormones. Always stole what eloquence she had when she was trying her level best to be sophisticated. “Eleanor.”   
  
Spock blinked. “I do not understand.”   
  
She licked her lips and swallowed a few times, trying to rid herself of the dry feeling in her mouth. “We’re off-duty. Call me Eleanor.”   
  
“Very well, Eleanor,” Spock said, repeating the name, and Eleanor could swear she felt something inside her spontaneously combust. Not in thirty-one years of life, through years of _Dammit, you get in here, Eleanor Harriet_ s and _Miss McCoy, to the principal’s office_ s, had she heard her name pronounced in a way that got her hot. _El-leh-norr._ Must’ve been a Vulcan thing – made it sound like its meaning. _Light_.   
  
“Thanks, Spock,” she finally replied after several seconds’ worth of uncharacteristic musings. “Thanks for comin’. I tried to find a holovid, but I couldn’t decide, so you’re the decidin’ vote, I guess.” Oh, great, and now her accent was coming out, too. Fucking fantastic.   
  
“What would you prefer?”   
  
“Well, let’s see. C’mon, sit down.” Eleanor led Spock over to her couch (which was too damn hard, stupid Starfleet-issue, but it’d do) and brought up the digital wall-display. “Got a lot on here, but I’m havin’ trouble deciding.”   
  
“One moment,” Spock said, and indicated the vid currently flashing on the screen; Eleanor had been flicking through the selections as she spoke.   
  
“Oh. Yeah, that one. It’s kind of corny, but a lot of people say it’s a classic.” Of all the choices, Spock had to pick the ironic one - _Titanic_ , 1997, a story of forbidden love. Eleanor had cried the first time she watched it (although, to be fair, she’d been thirteen and she cried about _everything_ then). “Long as you can suspend your historical disbelief a little, it’s pretty good.”   
  
“It seems interesting.” Spock was studying the image on the screen intently, her head tilted to one side in a way that Eleanor had come to realize she was fascinated…when had she started studying the hobgoblin’s moods, anyway?   
  
“Okay, then. Computer, play _Titanic_ , lights ten percent.” At least she was old enough not to get all emotional at the love story now.   
  
Predictably enough, tears started welling up right at the start of that stupid scene, the one where the kid was holding his girlfriend up over the end of the ship (completely stupid idea, by the way – who ever heard of something like that happening where the girl _didn’t_ fall over?). _Fuck it all._ Eleanor scrubbed at her eyes with the palm of her hand and tried her level best to keep from sniffling – didn’t work, though. When she got emotional, she got leaky.   
  
“Eleanor?” Spock had been silent throughout the vid thus far, which was weird. Eleanor would’ve thought she’d pop in with commentary on _illogical_ this and _that would not happen_ that, historical accuracy and all. “Are you in pain?”   
  
“Nah. Just emotional.” She wiped her eyes again. “This part always gets to me – I’ve seen it enough that I know how it ends.”   
  
“Am I to assume that the male is to die?”   
  
Eleanor blinked. “How’d you know? You haven’t seen this.”   
  
“Jack Dawson resides in the level commonly known as ‘steerage’,” Spock said. “Thirteen percent of men in said level survived the sinking of the Titanic, while ninety-seven percent of women in first class, in which Rose resides, survived. Additionally, one may hypothesize that unknown metaphysical forces intend to separate the two, as intimated by several characters.”   
  
Another blink. Eleanor decided against asking where Spock had learned that; damn computer probably picked it up somewhere. “Yeah. You got it, so I guess there’s no point in watching the rest.”   
  
“On the contrary, the progression of the plot fascinates me.” Huh. She wouldn’t’ve thought Spock would get hooked by some two-and-a-half-century-old chick flick, but then again, there was a lot Eleanor hadn’t known about Spock before today. “Is Rose’s abrupt disapprobation of her circumstances simply a result of an emotional need to rebel?”   
  
“Never thought about it before, I guess,” Eleanor admitted. “Probably the whole ‘forbidden love’ thing. In the early twentieth century, it was class conflict that got attention. Same-sex relationships were seen as the same thing in the twenty-first century. I think the twenty-second focused on interspecies relationships, especially after the first _Enterprise_ set out.” She usually wasn’t such a history fanatic, but she’d done a fair bit of research on Starfleet after she’d enlisted. And she’d done research about sexual orientations after she started suspecting she was bisexual (and _goddamn_ , but nothing had yet compared to the feel of those first furtive orgasms).   
  
“Said pattern brings to mind a question about the current focus of this ‘forbidden love’,” Spock commented, a pensive note in her voice that Eleanor hadn’t noticed before.   
  
Well, here was her chance. “Same-sex interspecies relationships in different social classes?” she quipped, and glanced at Spock.   
  
Who didn’t appear to get the joke. “Indeed, it would appear to be so,” the Vulcan said slowly, thoughtfully. “For example, I am half-Vulcan and you are not. We are both women. I do not know your social class as accorded by Terran norms, but my father’s family is descended from high nobility.”   
  
Yeah, Fate _really_ hated her. Why else would Spock choose their budding relationship (she _hoped_ that was what it was, anyway), of all things, to use as an example? Of course, Eleanor could say none of this. Instead, what left her lips was one of the most moronic things she’d ever heard herself say. “You realize I really want to kiss you right now?”   
  
Spock slowly raised an eyebrow, and Eleanor was _this_ close to clapping a hand over her own mouth in a girly gesture she’d sworn never to emulate. She’d always prided herself on existing independent of her libido, but apparently that wasn’t the case. “Then by all means, Eleanor, do so.”   
  
It took a few moments for the cogs grinding away in her head to let her hear what Spock had said. “What?”   
  
Spock’s reply was anything but verbal. Instead, she leaned over to the other side of the couch - _oh fuck, oh fuck, personal space_ \- and, while Eleanor was still powerless to move, pressed their mouths together.   
  
When the kiss ended, Eleanor noticed out of the corner of her eye that Kate Winslet had just taken her clothes off. How fabulously ironic. Or coincidental, depending on how the rest of the evening was about to go. “Damn,” she groaned in a voice she barely recognized as hers, “that’s hot.” She paused, sure Spock was about to correct her. “And I don’t mean your body temperature, you damn green-blooded - _mmmm._ ”   
  
A kiss, as it turned out, was an excellent way to make someone shut up. Not that she was going to use it on Jim; _he_ was getting a hypo if he yammered at her. Spock could get all the kisses Eleanor had to give, and more.   
  
_More_ , apparently, meant losing all her inhibitions and kissing Spock back hard enough to lean the other woman against the arm of the couch, as Eleanor found out when she opened her eyes. _When’d I close ‘em, anyway?_ “So I’m guessin’,” she said after her breath came back, “the feeling’s mutual.”   
  
“You may correctly surmise as much.” Spock’s voice was low and thick with what Eleanor realized, with some pride, was arousal. “I have experienced feelings of romantic interest towards you for approximately two point –“   
  
“Spock.”   
  
“Yes?”   
  
“Shut up,” Eleanor told her in what she hoped was a commanding tone (although, to be fair, _nothing_ could compare to Spock’s command tone; even Jim-goddamn-him listened to it), and kissed her again, this time pressing close so that her body was flush against Spock’s. “ _Fuck_ , do you know what you’re doin’?” she gasped out between kisses, as she felt her nipples harden, even under the layers of her shirt and bra, responding to the contact with Spock’s soft breasts. “Anyone who says women don’t have a libido is a lyin’ fucker, and - _god!_ ” Spock had just done something very interesting with her tongue, a kind of flick across her lips that Eleanor’d have to learn to duplicate. _Hobgoblin._   
  
“It is illogical, yet I appear to be physically aroused by your profanity,” Spock said, her eyes bright and glowing against the backdrop of her pale, pale skin and unraveling braid. (When had Eleanor gotten her hands into that hair? She could feel the memory of that silkiness on her skin – must’ve been in the hormonal fog.) “Please continue.”   
  
“Aroused, huh?” Eleanor was a _doctor_ , goddammit, and she knew how to decipher the high green flush and sheen to Spock’s skin, but why pass up an opportunity? “Let’s just see what-all we got goin’ on here.” She reached a hand between Spock’s spreading legs, under the black skirt, and rested her fingers on one silk-skinned thigh for just a moment before delving between them. “Oh, god _damn_.”   
  
Spock’s eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted, just a little, one hand coming down to rest on Eleanor’s waist. “It is m-most pleasurable,” she murmured. Eleanor could feel her hips canting up to meet her hand as she explored the wet heat there.   
  
“That why you didn’t wear underwear?” Eleanor didn’t give her time to reply with something that would probably just irritate her (fuck logic, fuck it hard), instead kissing her swollen, green-flushed mouth. Hard to believe she was lying on a couch with _her hand up Commander Spock’s skirt_ , but stranger things had happened, and Jim was probably jacking off envisioning this very scenario. _Oversexed bastard._ “Mm, fuck, you’re _hot_.” Not the most imaginative dirty talk she could think of, but her thumb was currently tracing a delicate circle around the hard nub of Spock’s clit; she could get imaginative later.   
  
“ _Eleanor_ ,” Spock moaned, and fuck if that wasn’t getting Eleanor hotter than she’d ever been. She bent her head and lightly bit Spock’s neck in return, while two fingers stroked a path down her cunt and slipped inside, crooking up against one hot, slick wall.   
  
“Damn, if y’all knew how fuckin’ hot this is getting’ me,” Eleanor murmured into Spock’s ear, and licked the pointed tip before continuing. Unable to resist the demands of her own body any longer, she adjusted so that she was lying more firmly against Spock – her arm was going to be so cramped, but who gave a flying fuck? – freeing up her other hand to slide down her pants and into her underwear. She rubbed hard at her own clit, even as she did the same to Spock’s, fingers still working inside her.   
  
Spock’s hips bucked up against her hand, unselfconscious moans sounding in Eleanor’s ear. “Yeah, come on,” Eleanor replied, and pressed the pad of one finger against what she assumed was Spock’s G-spot. “Come on, come for me now, darlin’, just let go an’ fuck my hand, come all over me, come on…” She barely knew what she was saying; seemed all her mental faculties were vanishing as fast as she was approaching orgasm herself. “Oh, _fuck_ , come on…” and now she couldn’t tell if she was talking to Spock or to herself.   
  
Spock cried out something wordless and desperate, breathing heavily against Eleanor’s neck as she obeyed and came so hard Eleanor could feel the vibrations rippling up her arm.   
  
Must’ve been a damn Vulcan voodoo thing, because seconds later, Eleanor felt herself fly over the edge as well. “Spock, oh fuck, oh _fuck_ \- ah, _god_ ,” she gasped. The heat of Spock’s body against hers only seemed to heighten her orgasm, and it felt like she spent forever in loud, rolling pleasure. “Spock,” she finally repeated when the last of the shocks had passed, and lay half-senselessly against the other woman.   
  
“Eleanor,” Spock whispered. Just her name, a soft gesture of affection.   
  
“Mmm. Shut up.” Several minutes passed before Eleanor was even capable of thinking, much less speaking, but when she did, the old cantankerous tone was there. “Don’t go thinkin’ I sleep with everyone on the first date, now.”   
  
“I would not dare to presume so,” Spock said. “Neither would I presume that you would be able to perform said action again.”   
  
_She thinks I fucked my own brains out because of her, that damn Vulcan’s got another think coming!_ “Gimme two minutes an’ I’ll get a dildo, show you who can’t perform said action again, you green-blooded computer,” Eleanor retorted.   
  
Spock’s answer was another whimper.   
  
_Now there’s a lesson I won’t mind teaching,_ Eleanor thought, smirking to herself, and decided to lay there a few moments longer before seeing who had the better stamina.   
  
The night was young, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> "Nirak" is the Vulcan for "fool." Yes, I am that much of a nerd.


End file.
